Phantom Time Loops
by Purrs
Summary: Christine thought she was dying. She was. Fortunately, the multiverse crashed and sent her back to the beginning. Default Loops are the 2004 movie and LND, more or less. Original idea comes from Innortal's Loops, mostly based on Saphroneth's. Rated T to be safe. Mild E/C and R/C. (yes both)
1. Loops 1

**Sources in ascending order of familiarity: LND movie, book, 2004 POTO, songs from LND and POTO musicals**

**First fic, yay!**

* * *

_"If life gives you ugliness, go hide in a basement and kill people."_**  
**

* * *

1.1

Oh god. Meg. The gun. The blood. The pain. Oh god, oh god, this wasn't happening -

And, suddenly, it wasn't. She was standing, not lying weak. Nothing hurt, nor was anything bloody. She wasn't - she frowned. She wasn't wearing the dress. The costume nagged at her memory, but...how did...

"Christine Daaé can sing it, sir." Madame Giry, as if nothing had happened.

"What, a chorus girl? Don't be silly." Andre. How had he come here? Why had he come here?

"Let her sing it for you, Monsieur. She has been well taught."

Her eyes flew up and darted about. Meg, smiling at her, seeming younger, more innocent. Carlotta. Piangi. Firmin. Reyer. Buquet - but Buquet died. So did Piangi. And - and they were in the Opera Populaire, looking like it had never burned down.

Christine fainted.

.

"I know it's a big part, but you can do it, Christine, I know you can!" Meg grinned at her awakening friend.

"Meg, it's not... I can't." Christine sighed. "Maybe I could, but I don't want to. I... I don't feel well. I just want to go to my room and rest."

Madame Giry frowned. "Are you sure?"

Shaking slightly, she nodded, rose to her feet, and walked away.

Andre and Firmin glanced at each other. "Can anyone else sing the part?"

.

Onstage, the cast was doing their best to perform without their diva. (Their best, in this case, turned out to be surprisingly good.) Offstage, Christine lay flat on her bed, sobbing into the pillow. She couldn't handle this. She couldn't.

"You could have been singing right now, Christine. You would have performed beautifully," her Angel of Music mourned.

The room fell silent; the tears in her eyes abruptly vanished. Her head snapped up to face the mirror, and although she still clutched her pillow tightly, her eyes were hard. "Of course I would have, Phantom," she said, her voice empty. "You teach me well. But I won't step into the spot of someone who was forced down for me."

No response.

"How is your opera coming along? Don Juan Triumphant? You want me to be Aminta, I know... you yourself would make a nice Don Juan if the costume covered your face. Wouldn't want to scare the audience, after all." The silence stretched on. She stood up and walked to the mirror, tiredly sliding it open to reveal a gaping man in a mask. She tore it off, only flinching slightly, and hugged him. "Hello." Then she let go, walked back to her bed, and flopped down on it. "I don't know what to do," she mumbled.

When she glanced up an hour later, she was alone. The mirror was closed, and not even the mask remained. No one else came to visit.

She spent the rest of the night in silence.

.

The next month was spent much like that evening: she cried in her room alone, sporadically interrupted by Meg, Madame Giry, or the Phantom. The latter never said much, merely trying to persuade her to _do_ something. He seemed shaken. Raoul never made an appearance. Then again, he hadn't noticed her until the Gala - which she hadn't taken part in - and confining oneself to one's room was not the best way for people to see one, so it made sense. He didn't even know she was here, so why would he visit her?

Finally, the Phantom stepped through the mirror for the first time; it was the second time Christine had seen him. Not counting all those other times, of course, back in the future. She glanced up at him from her bed as he hesitantly sat down beside her. "Christine..."

"You came out."

"I don't see why I shouldn't have. You knew already." He turned to her, uncertain. "Antoinette swore she didn't tell you anything. What else do you know? How did you find out?"

She looked away. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." She paused. "Antoinette?"

"Madame Giry," he clarified. "I'm surprised you didn't know. You seem to know everything else."

"Why did you come in tonight?"

He frowned. "I need you to sing, Christine."

She shook her head. "I won't."

"I worry that if you continue like this, you'll be ejected from the Opera."

"Can't you just write one of your notes about it?"

"They never listen." He sighed.

She nodded, but said nothing. The two sat in silence until she finally spoke. "If that happens, I'll just live with you by the lake."

He stared, breath catching. "You would?"

She shrugged, her mouth smiling slightly but her eyes sad. "Of course." She met his gaze. "Why the mask? I don't mind, and no one else ever sees you."

"You... don't mind?"

Christine pulled off the Phantom's mask for either the second or the fourth time, depending on how you were counting.

And then she kissed him.

.

"Mother, come and listen!" an eager voice called, echoing in the candlelit caverns.

"I'm coming, Gustave," she laughed. "Have you written something new for me?"

"Yes!" He really was just like his father. Well, Christine corrected herself, Erik was scarred in many ways whereas her ten-year-old son certainly wasn't. But aside from that.

"Mother, why do you never sing?" Gustave tilted his head.

She looked away. "I... It reminds me of things I wish hadn't happened. But you, dear, sing wonderfully. Why don't you show me?"

As Erik - loving Erik, talented Erik, murder-free-for-almost-eleven-years (not counting the incident with Carlotta; she had managed to overlook that) Erik - began walking over, Christine sat by the piano and leaned in as Gustave began to perform for them.

And then the music vanished.

* * *

1.2

"Christine Daaé can sing it for yo-" Madame Giry was cut off.

"No, I can't. I quit!" She strode out of the room.

* * *

1.3

"Christine Daaé can -"

"Nope! Nope nope nope. I'm leaving. Bye."

* * *

1.4

"Christine Daaé can sing -"

"Will you just shut up?"

* * *

1.5

"Christine Daaé can sing it -"

Said chorus girl let loose a string of hacking coughs. "I don't think I can sing anything," she rasped.

* * *

1.6

"Christine Daaé -"

"_Oh my god, look! It's the Phantom of the Opera!"_ While everyone else was distracted, she ran from the room.

* * *

1.7

"Christine Daaé can sing it, sir."

"I can?"

"...Why wouldn't you? You have been well taught."

"Noooo, I haven't. I've just been mouthing the words the whole time."

"That's odd, because I distinctly remember hearing you singing well the other day. By yourself."

"Well, if you say so. Think of meeeee-" The chandelier shattered. "Oops."

* * *

1.8

"Christine Daaé can sing it, sir."

"_Glarivnenquoxotiby!" _After shouting like a madwoman, she fell to the floor laughing wildly because why not.

* * *

1.9

"Erik Daaé can sing it, sir."

Christine barely registered the words. God, that last time around had not ended well... She pressed a hand to her face and froze. There was a mask. She was not supposed to have a mask.

"What, a chorus boy? Don't be silly."

"Let him sing it for you, Monsieur. He has been well taught."

And then a new set of memories made her aware of their existence. From her face to her mother's rejection to her position as Erik's Angel of Music, it all came back to her.

"What the hell?" she muttered.

Well then. This was new. What would happen this time around? There was only one way to find out.

* * *

1.10

"Christine Daaé can sing it, sir."

She resolved to simply seem disinterested in any romantic advances this time around, and then shrugged. Why not sing?

.

"Little Lotte let her mind wander -"

"Oh hey there. Do I know you?"

"I - I'm Raoul. Don't you remember me?" he asked, hurt.

"Right, right, yeah. I remember now. With the stories and all? In the attic? And…yeah." She turned her attention to some random object in the room. "Look, can you go? I'm doing something."

He frowned. "I...guess?"

"Thanks."

.

"I am your Angel of Music, come to me Angel of -"

"_Whoa_ you're a person behind the mirror."

"...That I am." Awkward Erik was awkward.

"Why are you in my mirror."

"I'm your Angel of Music, Christine."

"So I've been taking lessons from a masked creep who has open access to my room? That is not something I'm okay with. Not at all. Can you just...just go?"

.

"You have a model of me in a wedding dress. That is absolutely horrifying. Can you please let me go now? I do not appreciate being kidnapped like this."

.

"Oh, hello, Raoul. Fancy meeting you here." She promptly walked away through the costumed crowd.

.

"Stop stalking me! I can't even visit my father's grave without you bothering me?"

This was fun. And hey if she actively avoided any romance, she actually ended up avoiding most songs. (Outside of the operas, of course.) Who knew?

* * *

1.11

"Christopher Daaé can sing it, Madame."

He probably could have, if he wasn't suffering from an internal freakout over the shape of his body.


	2. Loops 2

_"A journey of three-and-a-half thousand miles - more or less - begins with a single offer of money to a debtor."_

* * *

2.1

"Christine Daaé could sing it, sir."

"What, a chorus girl? Don't be silly."

"She has been taking lessons from a great teacher."

"Who?" Andre asked, but no one was there to reply.

.

It was ridiculous how many passages, trapdoors, and concealed entrances were in the Opera Populaire and ridiculously easy to find the nearest one. In a short time Christine was expertly navigating the stone corridors. She was thankful now for the time spent as Erik's Angel, as she wouldn't have stood a chance in here before that. Fortunately, the boat was here, but unfortunately, that meant that Erik wasn't here. Sitting on the stone floor, she contented herself to wait until he returned.

She didn't have to wait long to hear footsteps. "I'm here, my Angel. Could you take us across, please? I'd like to talk."

Stunned, he was silent for a moment. "...Yes, of course."

She stepped in after them, and the 'Angel of Music' began poling them along. "How did you know?"

"I," she hesitated, "I want to tell you about something. That would be part of it, Erik."

He had been looking ahead as he poled the boat along, but now his head whipped down to meet her gaze. "You know my name?"

She smiled. "I do."

When the boat landed on the candlelit shore, Christine stepped out and took a few steps toward the piano, then turned back to him. "Erik, I'm trapped in time. I died once, and ever since then I keep coming back to today and reliving the time between. This is my twelfth time around, Erik. I've lived over a century this way."

He frowned. "Is that so?"

This was why Christine had never told him her second time around, no matter how much she wanted to; he would think she was crazy. By now, however, she knew how to prove it. "I know the songs you've written, the songs you're writing." She flew to the piano and played the opening chords of Past the Point of No Return. "Go on, sing." She grinned at him.

He followed her. "I don't know that."

"Right, right. You only just started... Forgive me, I can't sing quite as low as you and it begins with Don Juan..." Her voice caught up to the music.

"Past all thought of if or when

No use resisting

Abandon thought and let the dream descend

What raging fire shall flood the soul

What rich desire unlock its door

What sweet seduction lies before us..." She trailed off, smiling at him.

He nodded slowly. "That does sound like something I would write; besides which, I've never known you to compose. Yet - I'm not quite convinced -"

"I found my way here, didn't I? And I know you, Erik. I know what lies under your mask. I know about the Devil's Child." He flinched. "I know that you love me, Erik. I know that I love you too."

"You...do?" The hope in his gaze nearly melted her heart, but she continued regardless.

"I always have. But..." She shook her head. "I can't... I came here to talk to you, just that. At least right now. I need to talk to someone, that's all, please."

He sat down beside her on the bench, bright eyes dimming somewhat but resolute nonetheless. "So talk."

.

"And now?" Erik asked.

Christine sighed. "How can you talk of now? Now is the past, yet it isn't. In a little over ten years' time it will be now again, yet a different version of it. Yet only different by my choices, otherwise the same. And you will have forgotten - no, you'll never have known - and nothing I do now will have any effect on what happens then. By some point in my first time back, I had decided I had been given a chance to live a better life, but that certainly isn't the point of this. But what is the point of this? What do I do? Does it even matter at all what I do?"

"What is the point of life?" Erik replied. "Why would many lives have any more point than one? One could call you lucky. Most people only get one chance, but you have as many as you want."

"No, more than I want. Too many. I wish I could have -"

"Just think of it. You can share ten loves, ten lifetimes with me. A hundred. You can learn to do so much more than anyone else would have the time to. Now," he smiled, the hopeful glimmers returning to his eyes, "you mentioned something we did beneath a moonless sky?"

She looked away. "But Raoul..."

"Became a gambler and a drunkard, then left you. Isn't that what you said?"

"He was. Will be. Might be. He isn't now. He isn't always."

He laughed. "I'm not quite the most impartial man to ask about him, now am I?"

"I suppose not." She smiled briefly, and met his eyes as it fell away. "Yet...do you know how I could convince you to stay away?" At his expression, she rushed to reassure him. "No, not this time. Not now. Not after everything I've told you. I just...I spent a decade with you, happily, and I'd like to at least try to do the same with him. But you're always so insistent - and he was so haunted by what happened - if I want to try that, I'll have to dissuade you first. Not that I don't want to be with you - but if you want to come before him, shouldn't you at least give him the chance? Maybe?" She smiled weakly, then shook it off. "No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have - that was cruel of me. Forget I asked anything." She stood up. "Now, should we let our new managers refund the whole house, or...?"

"Are you volunteering?"

"I - don't think so. I don't want to sing. Not this."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded. "Would Meg be up to it, you think? She's good enough to be the star of a different show - at least she will be."

"Perhaps, but not if she would start today. She doesn't know the music." He shook his head. "Let's just leave them to their attempts to win Carlotta over, shall we?"

"Sounds like a plan."

* * *

2.2

"I am your Angel of Music

Come to me, Angel of Music..."

She stepped through the mirror, but Erik wasn't there. But he had just been singing, hadn't he? From right there? She was sure of it.

Glancing around uncertainly, her eyes fell on a flower growing out of the rock beneath her feet. Why was there a flower?

She noted that half its petals were wilted while the others were in full bloom, and suddenly, it dawned on her. She groaned.

It was the Plant-om of the Opera.

* * *

2.3

Christine didn't like making these choices, knowing what they led to - but she wanted to know more of what happened, and as far as she knew there was only one way.

And so she found herself retracing her steps for a decade as close as she could, for the reward of now stepping from the pattern. She followed Erik out of her room, making sure to stay hidden. Why was he going to the bar - oh no. Raoul. She watched their confrontation until she felt she had to step in.

"Look at you, deep in debt,

Stinking drunk, pitiful.

Shall we two make a bet?

Devil take the hindmost," Erik sneered.

Raoul was quick to respond.

"Look at you, foul as sin,

Hideous, horrible.

Call the stakes, deal me in.

Devil take the hindmost."

"Our Christine shall choose tonight."

"Let her choose."

"Is she yours or mine?"

"Draw the line."

"If she sings, you lose tonight."

"I won't lose."

"You leave from here."

"Fine."

"Disappear."

"Fine."

"And if she won't, if I win?"

"All your debt's wiped away."

"Very well, let's begin."

"Devil take the hindmost."

Christine stepped out of the shadows, glaring at the both of them.

"Look at you, behind my back

Making my decisions yours.

You'd find it wise to change your tack.

Devil take the hindmost."

They stared at her in shock and horror as she continued.

"Just look at you, in the dark.

'Will she stay, or leave these shores?'

I've half a mind to leave this park;

To me you're both the hindmost," Christine spat. Spinning on her heel, she stalked out of the bar. She didn't have a particular destination in mind, but if she ran into either of them again tonight she couldn't be held accountable for her actions. Even with her conflicted interests, they had no right to - to treat her as property, like she was a prize to be won in that ridiculous game they had tried to start. At least now she knew why Raoul had left, why he had tried so hard to persuade her from performing.

She didn't know if knowing this was better or worse than not knowing had been.

* * *

2.4

"Christine Daaé can sing it, sir."

"I can't. Excuse me, I have to go." She strode out and up to her room, grabbing a candlestick along the way. Perhaps the woman she had been before all of this wouldn't have done this. But Christine wasn't quite the same anymore, and being the Phantom had taught her two things:

Candlesticks were convenient, and smashing mirrors was surprisingly cathartic.


	3. Loops 3

**The Looper guide is Saphroneth's, not mine. I also don't own POTO, LND, or the Everness books.**

**Sorry for it being so long since I last updated, camp didn't have any Internet.**

* * *

_"Better to have loved and lost and regained and lost forever and regained again and now it's complicated than never to have loved at all."_

_"Um."_

_"What?"_

* * *

Christine was dead, oh God, she was dead, Meg shot her and now she was dead -

.

He had left Christine, left her with _him_, oh God, why had she sung -

.

Erik blinked away tears. A voice was coming from below him: "Christine Daae can sing it, sir."

Christine, singing? If only. The speaker was Antoinette Giry. She had been there, by the pier, when... why hadn't she come back with help? It might have been too late, but...she didn't sound at all concerned. How heartless could she be?

And then he finally noticed his surroundings. The stage. The fallen prop. The knife in his hand. The people below him - Andre, Firmin, the Girys, the chorus. Christine.

"Think of me

Think of me fondly

When we said goodbye..."

Her voice, full and beautiful. More experienced, somehow.

Oh god, Christine.

He didn't care what had happened; all that mattered was that Christine was alive and well. He avoided Buquet as the man returned to his post, and the tears now springing to his eyes were joyful ones.

.

Raoul gazed mournfully out the carriage window, wishing he could have done more somehow. Some way. The cobblestone road was a familiar one; he hadn't expected to

become this used to the city in the time he had spent here. Through the chatter of the crowd, select words in French drifted to his ears.

French? No English? They had changed at some point and he hadn't noticed. "Stop the carriage," he ordered.

He stepped out, looking around at the streets of Paris. What the hell was going on? Even if carriages had been able to somehow drive on water, the trip couldn't take

mere minutes. It was impossible! A building caught his eye, and he took a step back. The Opera Populaire.

What, had he fallen asleep? Was he dreaming? This couldn't be real. The Populaire burned down over ten years ago. When all - /that/ - happened.

Raoul began walking over; if this was a dream, he could at least enjoy it.

He slipped through the door to hear singing - Christine's singing.

"but please promise me

That sometimes

You will think

Ahhhhhhh - oh!"

Raoul had caught her in a tight embrace, and if she stiffened at his touch, he didn't notice. "Oh, how I missed you," he murmured. Even though it had been less than an hour, just thinking about the life ahead of him - alone, without her - and even if it was only a dream, it was better than nothing.

As the rest of the cast looked on in bewilderment, Christine smiled at him; yet her eyes were wary. "It has been years, hasn't it? I'm just glad you recognized me after all that time, even if it took you a while." She pried him off her, but kept his hand in hers. "Raoul and I were friends in our youth," she offered by way of explanation.

"Raoul," Erik muttered, eyes blazing at the pair. "Damn that man."

.

The day was spent in practice that Christine didn't need but kept her busy regardless, leading up to the gala that night. The soonest time she had to even begin to wonder about Raoul was in her room, after Meg left. Yet even that was interrupted. Simultaneously, in fact.

"Christine, you were amazing tonight. We should -" as the door opened.

"Christine, come to the mirror. I -" as a silhouette began to form behind said mirror.

Both voices froze, then spoke another word in unison, dripping with venom. "You."

She laughed uncertainly. "Raoul, you can hear my Angel?"

"That's no angel, Christine, but a demon," he spat.

She blinked. "What makes you think that?"

"Oh, come on, Christine, you are part of my dream. You should know this."

"Your dream?" Frostily amused, Erik's voice echoed around the chamber. "Is that really what you think?"

She frowned. "Raoul, what happened just before you...started dreaming? Humor me."

He looked away. "I was leaving you," he muttered. "You didn't care enough to come with me."

"You left her to die," Erik pronounced. "And I stayed with her. I do suppose she was right."

Raoul's eyes narrowed. "This is my dream, monster. You won't be turning it into a nightmare."

Christine couldn't tell whether her tears were joy- or rage-filled, or perhaps a bit of each, but it didn't seem to matter. They were coming regardless.  
Both men, rushing to comfort her, paused first as their hands met on her back, then as she stiffly rose and stepped away.

"You know, this really was the worst time for you two to follow me back. A few decades prior, I wouldn't have known. A few after now, I might have entirely forgiven you for making that bet." She laughed without turning around. "I only found out two times back, however long that is. It was yesterday for you, when it happened for real. It's been a century or two for me - then again, you could say it's been just eleven years. The same eleven years, over and over again." She sighed. "I'm trapped in time, and apparently you are too. Have fun." She strode out of the room.

A few seconds later, she came back in. "This is my room." She shoved them out the door and slammed the door.

Raoul glanced at Erik.

"Women."

* * *

3.2

The young woman on the stage hadn't been Christine, and his mind had filled in all the details upon reflection. But he still had questions.

"...Sen Daae?" Upon opening the door, Raoul blinked. The girl was teasing her snow-white hair into an unusual curled globe.

She looked up. "You's a Looper?"

"Does that have anything to do with time repeating itself?"

"Bonaroo, you's a Looper. New, though, or close to." She stood up, reached into nothingness, tossed a few papers at him. "Might want this."

document/d/1FrAJPS0iYSLNhz8VhQhJRtQlfYMKPWq4jJF_PRCUAt8/mobilebasic

Raoul looked them over, then returned his gaze to the girl. "I see... So. Who are you?"

She grinned. "Sen Sixsmyth, omi. I's from the Panoply Loop." She took four books from her - Pocket, was it? - and held them out. He took them. "Three of 'em's ours. The other's pretty bona too."

_Planesrunner_, _Be Mine Enemy_, _Empress of the Sun_, and _le Fantome de l'Opera_. Raoul frowned at the last one. "Is this...?"

"If you know more fictions, you's caught off guard by Fused Loops less often." Sen grinned. "And it's always fun reading your own. Gives you a new perspective, sabi."

"I'm sure it does." He looked uncertainly at her. "What's your plan now?"

She shrugged. "I dinnae sabi right now. Probably I's just going to see what happens."

Raoul nodded slowly. "In that case, I'm sure I'm keeping you. Why don't I come back tomorrow?"

He left, still holding what she had given him. If she kept acting that way - well. He'd soon find out what the Phantom would make of her forthright manner and bizarre language.

He knew one thing for sure - he didn't know what to expect from this Loop.

.

The next day, Raoul knocked on Sen's door.

"Yeah?"

He came in. "So what happened?"

"That meese omi wasn't as meese as in the book."

"Meaning?"

"His ecaf was almost normal, no glowing yews or nante." She gestured at her own face in an attempt to clarify. "I's been thinking it's a variant, that one."

He should read that book; he hadn't gotten around to starting it yet. "But what happened down there?"

"He did a lot of singing, showed me a great big naff doll of me in wedding clobber. He's really alamo, far I's varda."

"Pardon?"

"So I's supposing he's not that different. Bit more dignity, though." She nodded to herself. "Then I wanted to sabi for sure what he looked like, and he went meshigener on me."

Raoul raised an eyebrow. The word was unfamiliar, but... "That sounds a lot like...baseline. He wasn't confused at all?"

"Nante. He's been around me for years now, at least this him," Sen explained like it was obvious. "'Course he's used to my palari."

"Ah, right." He wasn't entirely sure he understood, but agreeing was the easiest option.

Her face slid into a knowing smile. "The polone I's replacing. You's alamo for her, aye?"

"What?"

Her hands formed a heart shape. "You sabi, alamo. You's together or something?"

He sighed. "Or something. It's complicated."

"Is it him?"

At one point, yes. Currently, no. "Can we not talk about this?"

"Oh, aye, sure. Sorry." She coughed, and their speech disappeared into silence for a time.

"How do you use your Pocket?" he asked finally. It seemed like something he should know.

"Oh, it's bona easy. Varda, you do it like this."

* * *

3.3

"Are we there yet?"

"We only just left the port. We have an ocean to cross!"

"That's a no?"

"Of course we're not there yet!"

"...Are we there yet, _now_?"

"Non."

"How about now?"

"Non!"

"Are we there yet?"

"For the last time, no! What has gotten into you, Erik? Mon dieu, a minute ago you were sitting there moping!"

"I suppose I wasn't really Awake yet."

"Clearly."

"Regardless, I have an idea as to what we'll do in America."

"Do tell?"

"Well, to start out we'd need a few million dollars."

"Of course we would. Mind thinking of something feasible?"

"In ten years' time we could have the most popular place in the country!"

"Ten years? Ten whole years on this scheme? You must be joking."

"...Are we there yet?"

"Non!"

"You're sure we're not there yet?"

"Don't encourage him, Meg! Merde!"


	4. Loops 4

**School is annoying.**

**In my opinion, Erik and Jud (from Oklahoma!) have a lot in common. The main difference, aside from the setting, is that Jud has no redeeming qualities that I can see.**

**I own nothing. I am a hobo.**

* * *

_"If you love something, let it go. If it comes back, let it go again. If ten years go by with no word from it, assume it still loves you and use a name it doesn't know to persuade it to come back again."_

_"That's ridiculous."_

_"Well, it worked, didn't it?"_

_"If you count her dying as 'working', then yes, it did."_

_"Oh. Right."_

_"...Wait. The first 'let it go' was when we left, right?"_

_"Yes?"_

_"She came back to you. When exactly did this happen, and _what _exactly happened then?"_

_"..."_

_"Well?"_

_"I just remembered I needed to do something it was nice talking to you goodbye!"_

* * *

4.1

"Pore Erik's daid

A candle lights his head"

"He's lookin' oh so purty and so nice

He looks like he's asleep

It's a shame that he won't keep

But it's summer and we're running out of -"

Awaking mid-phrase, the two stared at each other in silence.

"Was...was we jist..." Raoul finally managed.

A nod. Erik's hand was firmly over his bare face. Judging by the new memories, he hadn't been the type to wear a mask.

"And ah was..."

Nod.

"And you was..."

Nod.

"Look, d'you know why we're here 'stead of the Opera? Ah mean, has someone talked to you 'bout it before? Y'weren't Awake when Sen came."

A frown.

"Ah'll tell you later. We need ta talk 'bout Christine."

Nod.

"...damn, this accent is annoyin'."

Nod.

"That's why you ain't speakin'?"

Nod.

"Smart."

* * *

4.2

"Little Lotte let her mind wander..." He darted an inquiring glance to the mirror, meeting his co-conspirator's gaze. His unspoken question was answered with a nod, and his eyes returned to Christine.

"Little Lotte thought, 'Am I fonder of Raouls or of Phantoms or...?'"

She looked at him flatly. "Little Lotte thought that Raoul has yet to be forgiven."

"That's why I came."

"Hm?"

"To apologize. You were right. I acted as if you were choosing between us, when you didn't even know your 'choice' existed. I left you, without telling you anything beforehand." Raoul sighed. "I'm sorry."

"But," Erik stepped out of the mirror. "When I found him, he had been wallowing in alcohol and self-pity for God knows how long. He was nowhere near his best. Besides which, I made it hard for him to turn down. It was certainly a lot of money I was offering."

"And as for him, he was still pining for you. He had brought you to him, but you were going to leave soon. He found his opportunity and took it."

"But that doesn't excuse what I did. I shouldn't have taken advantage of him - or of you. I shouldn't have said anything about Gustave."

"It looks like we'll have all of eternity together."

"We can't spend all of it mad at each other."

Christine eyed Erik. "What did you say about Gustave? I think I stopped you before that part."

He dropped his gaze. "I may have implied something regarding his parentage."

She sighed. "Of course you did. Now tell me - how long did you two spend working on this?"

"A day or so," he replied, glad for the change of subject.

"More importantly, how long have you been able to stand each other like this?"

Erik grinned at Raoul. Raoul grinned at Erik. To Christine's evident surprise, they linked arms and began square dancing, of all things.

"Oh, the Raoul and the Erik should be friends

Oh, the Raoul and the Erik should be friends

One man -"

"I'll stop you there," Christine interrupted. "That is the most disturbing thing I have ever seen."

"You think so, too?" Raoul grinned.

Erik smirked. "You weren't there when a whole town did it."

She stared at him. "What?"

"Don't ask," Raoul told her. "We're still not entirely sure why."

* * *

4.3

Christine watched Erik thoughtfully as he strode slowly past the piano, singing yet again to her about his music. As gratifying as it had been when they apologized, as fascinating as it had been to learn why this was happening, as astonishing as it had been when they managed to finish the Loop without any conflicts (that is, no major conflicts, she corrected. Well, no violent ones. She could say that, at least. Well... only that once.) - she was glad to be alone this time around. She wasn't yet sure what to do with the next eleven years, though.

He had returned to her, extending his hand. As she took it, her eyes lingered on the drafts of music before her, and in a moment of impulse she broke off from the baseline, following him up the steps.

"Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams

Purge your thoughts of the life you... knew..."

A note was played on the piano, leading Erik to trail off. He frowned momentarily in awkward disappointment, but more notes followed the first and his initial plan was forgotten. Christine began humming curiously (like she didn't already know it by heart) and he found a soft smile to match hers.

Her eyes suddenly met his, and her smile grew sheepish. "A-angel, I'm sorry, you were singing and I shouldn't have - but I was looking at the music, and - did you write this? It's amazing."

"You think so?"

"Oh, yes." She nodded fervently, and her eyes flicked back to the score. "May I?"

"Of course."

Singing along, she picked out the melody, occasionally playing a _whole chord_ at once! That was _such_ a complex thing to play. After all, she only had a few minutes of piano experience in her whole life, hadn't she? She 'hardly noticed' when she reached the end of the score and kept going for a few lines.

"Here the sire serves the dam

Here the master takes his meat

Here the sacrificial lamb

Um."

She frowned.

There was a minute of silence as Erik silently tried out words. "Utters one despairing bleat." He completed the phrase and raised his visible eyebrow at her. "You compose?"

"Oh, no, it was nothing, really," she demurred, feeling guilty. She had quite the advantage here, and she was certainly using it. It wasn't hurting anyone, perhaps, and yet... "What is all this?" She gestured to the scores written and the blank papers on which they soon would be, gestured to pages of neatly-penned notes and pages of scribbled-out stanzas.

"A work in progress; I call it Don Juan Triumphant." He found a pen, sat beside her, leaned forward, glanced at her, smiled. "Would you like to help?"

.

As she rose from the bench, Christine tried and failed to stifle a yawn. She chuckled, seeing Erik asleep. His bare cheek was pressed against the keys; she wasn't sure how late they had stayed up, but it must have been morning by now. It was, however, impossible to tell the time of day in this underground lair. She crept past the wedding doll to the swan bed and brought a blanket back with her. After draping it over him, she reached - slowly, slowly - for his mask. There was every reason to wonder what lay underneath, and this might avoid both rage on his part and fear - or the pretense of it - on hers. She pulled it off as delicately as if it was made of paper-thin glass and returned to 'her' bed with all the silence of an expert Opera Ghost(ette, she had playfully named that version of her). Erik's mask hanging from a bronze wingtip, Erik's love snuggled deep into the now-coverless plush, Christine let herself fall asleep.

.

Shaken out of her slumber, she gazed blearily up at the man in the mask. "Mnuh?" she said intelligently.

"I hope you're happy."

"Mnuh." She yawned, stretched, and blinked a few times, then gave a start. "...Oh. You were - your face. I'm sorry, did I over- oh, of course I did. You're wearing a _mask_, of course I shouldn't have - What happened? How long until it heals?"

"It won't," he replied curtly.

"It... God, I'm so sorry."

He gave what he clearly intended to be a glare, but it arrived with much more sadness than anger. "Don't do it again."

She nodded slowly. "I'm sorry," she repeated."

He looked away. "I don't want your pity."

She didn't. "You live in a _cave, _for God's sake. Is it because of your..."

He said nothing for a minute or so. Finally, he glanced at the ceiling. "Perhaps you should go. They will certainly be missing you."

"No."

"No?"

"Let them miss me. We're still in the middle of a song." Her smile said if you'd like to, if you're not too upset with me, you're right and I shouldn't have done that, but in any case I don't really mind.

He looked at her in surprise. "Well, if you're this eager." His eyes said are you serious, you don't want to leave now that you've seen me, this is better than I ever imagined.

The two walked to the piano together, minds filling with music and ideas -

A stomach grumbled. "You know," Christine said thoughtfully, "I don't think I've eaten since before the gala yesterday. Do you have any food?"


End file.
